


The Forge and the Blade

by Rens_Knight



Series: In the Burning of the Light [3]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: F/M, Literature, Sci-Fi, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 22:51:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14840706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rens_Knight/pseuds/Rens_Knight
Summary: Heretic Sith apprentice Tarssus Kallig is ordered by his master, Darth Zash, to take control of a cult on the poverty-stricken city-world of Nar Shaddaa in Hutt Space, to gain an artifact she seeks, and to increase their base of power.For a former slave, however, dealing with the most distasteful set of orders he's received since being taken to the Sith Academy will prove an immense and gut-wrenching challenge...





	The Forge and the Blade

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I realize I'm spelling the name of the old cult master "incorrectly," but I decided I liked "Palladius" better than "Paladius."  So there. 

  
** Star Wars: The Old Republic **

**In the Burning of the Light**

**"The Forge and the Blade"**

 

 

 

Go to the world of Nar Shaddaa.  Challenge Lord Palladius for control of his cult.  Once done, take an artifact of Tulak Hord from Palladius and return it to Darth Zash.

A simple mission for a Sith Lord to be, right?

Yeah.  Right.

To my absolute mortification, once I got off the holocomm with Zash, I had to look up the exact definition of a cult--for the education of a blacksmith-slave did not cover such things as philosophy and creeds.  To teach a slave such as myself the vaunted science of _how to think_ , and how to dictate the thinking of others...what deadlier weapon could one place in the hands of one's chattel than that?  That, even more than a lightsaber, was what they feared.

What my research uncovered truly turned my stomach.  I came across a wide variety of definitions of the word--ranging from a neutral description for a system of religious worship and rites, to the veneration of a person or ideal, to a sect considered false, unorthodox, or extremist, with members often living outside of society under the direction of a charismatic leader.  And then there was the concept of a cult of personality--to promote the adulation of a living leader or public figure for the sake of expanding their power base.  I supposed the old definition was what Palladius pretended to uphold, for he had them openly proclaim themselves the Cult of the Screaming Blade.  But the reality, I dreaded, was a case of entirely too much truth in advertising.

Darth Zash had made it sound so _normal_ , to think of commanding an entire group of poor laborers and unemployed to worship me for my power.  And for what?  To gain power for her?  For the Sith?  For myself?  Just as she had sent me as her tool to assassinate Darth Skotia, and I, the former slave, had meekly obeyed?

I had to win the artifact, at least--that much I had to accomplish to avoid her reproach.  And if there was one thing I grew ever more convinced of, it was that somehow for the sake of those people whose minds he had bent, Lord Palladius had to go.  But anything else, I resolved, I would accomplish not as Zash would have it, but in my own way.

If only I knew what that ought to _mean_.

 

How horribly right I'd been about what Lord Palladius had wrought on the minds of the people of the Cult of the Screaming Blade.  True, there had been two I had located--Rylee Dray and Destris Veran, who had seen through the renegade Sith Lord's lies, and that shrewdness had been an act of defiance and courage in its own right.  That, at least, had been something of a reason to hope. 

And it was she, Rylee Dray, who showed me the suffering of the underclasses of Nar Shaddaa both inside and outside the Cult, from the Rot--a disease caused by a water-borne parasite that incubated within its host only to migrate into the extremities and slowly emerge many months later to weeks of searing pain and infected lesions.  The Hutts didn't care about the disease--their resilient physiologies were too strong for the parasite to establish itself.  Nor did the upper class in direct service to the Hutts.  They had access to truly purified drinking water, instead of having to resort to homebuilt attempts to filter the rainwater that made it down to the lower levels...or worse, the sewage coming from the upper levels of the city world.

And that, so far as I understood, was indicative of conditions all over this planet.  It was _despicable_.  Rylee had suggested I take to distributing the cure amongst the masses to turn sentiment against Lord Palladius and towards myself.

As if it should take that for someone to _do_ something about this utterly needless suffering!  People began to call me the Great Healer...and all the while I seethed at the idea that my actions should have been somehow unusual.  _Why_ should I have been alone in this when the cure for the Rot existed and was _not_ that hard to manufacture or distribute?  It made absolutely _no bloody sense whatsoever_.

_Something_ was beginning to take shape in my soul.  But there was also the matter of the people whom Darth Zash expected me to take under my wing.  Under my _control_ , she thought.  And in order to even _begin_ to do right by them, there was so much more I had to learn about what Lord Palladius had done.  And the people to whom he had done it.

So one evening, after I had returned to the compound where the Cult of the Screaming Blade had made accommodations for me and Andronikos Revel, I headed back to the lowest level, hoping to find Rylee or Destris down there.

When I saw Rylee Dray hovering over a computer terminal in the main lobby, I did my best to suppress a sigh of relief.  She, of the two of them, was the more approachable.  And better yet, the less bloodthirsty.  She, I was beginning to trust.

She did not turn as I approached, so I gently cleared my throat.  Still receiving no response, I spoke.  "Rylee?"

The young woman jumped.  "Oh!  Sorry...I didn't hear you coming, my lord.  I...did you want something?"

I managed a small half-grin despite my own gnawing discomfort.  "Just a little time to actually get to _know_ you and your people while Palladius isn't breathing right down our necks," I said.  "You seem to have a keen grasp on what's going on around you, and some excellent ideas about a better future for this place.  So I wanted to spend some time listening to your thoughts on this place...your colleagues...the direction in which this group is headed...and anything else that should happen to cross your mind." 

Rylee blushed, her eyes darting to the ground.  "Um...well, I'm flattered, but...I don't know."  She wrung her hands as she stammered her way through her response.  "I mean, I'm just the computer girl.  Palladius brought me on to handle his records, and then things went south with Destris, and the numbers didn't come out right, and suddenly...I'm sorry, I'm rambling.  I shouldn't ramble."

Her presence in the Force...flickered.  Not that I could do much as far as sensing whatever it was she was really _feeling_ beyond what I could infer from the surface--but what little I _could_ pick up on was dispiriting, to say the least.  Even with the insightfulness she had managed to retain, had Palladius really ground her down this far anyway?  "You're not 'just' anything," I assured her.  "I wouldn't have asked you to speak your mind if I weren't planning to listen and give due consideration.  Or if I had decided your words simply wouldn't be of any value.  I want to listen.  I mean that."

Rylee lifted her gaze a bit.  "You do?"

"Of course," I replied, gently so as not to spook her again.  "Maybe you'd like to show me the compound a bit...the accommodations for your members, the places where you work, the places that might be deserving of some upgrades.  Something tells me you and Palladius wouldn't exactly see eye to eye in terms of priorities."

_That_ brought her features to life...with a fleeting smirk, but it was life.  It was spirit.  It was _opinion_.  And those, to my mind, were good.  "Um...yes!" she burst out, seeming to surprise even herself.  "Yes, I'd like that.  Let's do that!" 

"Very well, then."  I smiled in earnest this time, swept my hand forward.  "Do lead the way."

 

 

I'd had absolutely no idea exactly what I was getting into when I had asked to see the compound.  What I had imagined was some temple full of shrines for meditation or exercise, something far more closely resembling the tombs of the ancient Sith Lords, or perhaps the Sith Academy itself.  There had indeed been certain spaces for meditation.

But it rapidly became clear to me as Rylee showed me down corridor after corridor that not only did the compound span a far greater space than I had imagined, but a good portion of it was devoted to industry rather than worship.  The Cult of the Screaming Blade had been intended at some point to be a self-sustaining commune, maintaining its own food production and water systems, its own infrastructure and machinery, and even some form of rudimentary education for the children of the cultists.  Those ideals, however, had fallen by the wayside or been intentionally dismissed by the egomaniacal Palladius, leaving a disorganized mess...though not one without opportunity.

Seeing the full extent of it, however, was going to take some time...time I very much lacked on that day, what with our need to lay the plans to dislodge Lord Palladius.  As such, I had been obliged to cut the tour short of completion and ask Rylee to lead me back to the main lobby.

Without the immediate focus on her environs to buoy her, Rylee--who had demonstrated a confidence I'd had yet to see until that moment, reverted to her diffident, uncertain self.  "Um...yeah, so that was nice--a little unexpected, but...nice," she said more to her own toes than to me.  "Palladius definitely never let _me_ do so much of the talking."

"I don't mean to seem ungrateful by ending it so soon," I apologized as we concluded.  "It's not that.  But what you've had to say has been worth it.  You truly have given me much to ponder.  Palladius certainly has left quite the mess here.  That's not to discredit your and Destris' efforts, or anyone else who has tried to put their time and effort into this place.  But it's quite shameful that he's allowed things to reach such a state, where you are offered so few real, practical advantages to living and working together...other than, what, the 'privilege' of uniting to swear devotion to _him_?"

"That's about the size of it," Rylee muttered, glancing up long enough to favor me with one of those sardonic smirks of hers.  "It's hardly any better in here than it is living out _there_."

"That's one of the first things I am going to have to address somehow," I said.  "It is not right for _anyone_ to be living under these conditions, let alone people who have been led into it with the promise of something more.  But in some ways I'm almost glad the compound hasn't become _fully_ self-sustaining.  I'm not really sure how it ought to work, but there really should be some sort of trade and integration with the community around you.  Not being asked to cut yourselves off from the rest of Nar Shaddaa to focus solely on Palladius, or me, or anyone else.  Even a slave on my homeworld has more context to his or her greater community than to think his owner is the sole beginning and ending of the universe."

Rylee's brow furrowed, and she chanced a look directly into my eyes.  "But, Sith...I had thought you wanted control of the Cult, not just to take the artifact you said you came here for.  Otherwise, why would you be putting all the time and effort into not just _defeating_ Palladius, but undercutting him completely and drawing the people to you?"

I sighed, disconsolate.  It was a good question.  A _very_ good one.  And I was heartened indeed to see her mind working thus.  Still, what sort of answer could I give--to please Lord Zash?  To serve her ends?  To look as a Sith ought to look before the galaxy?  I was groping in the dark for something _more_ , something rewarding not just for me, but for these people, something that might begin to redeem what had been done to them.  "That is something I am still working my way through," I admitted.  "Partially...it is that Palladius _deserves_ to be discredited, and publicly.  It is not enough for me to merely walk in and take what I want for my own sake.  The hold he has...it has to be broken utterly, because this sort of living is not what men and women deserve.  That much, I know.  As for more...I am working on that."

Rylee flinched--I had come off much more abruptly than I intended, a suspicion confirmed when her gaze flitted back down to the ground and she muttered in a tone that sounded more like self-chastisement than anything, "I guess you need to get back to work, don't you?"

"Yes...I'm afraid I must," I replied.  "But don't fret--I think I'll be up for another tour shortly, and we can finish the other half of the compound." 

Rylee shifted her weight from one foot to another as she said, "Well, um...you know where to find me."

I nodded, and turned to head towards the quarters I had been given.  Out the corner of my eye, however, I could not help but notice Rylee turn to look after me with a strangely wistful sort of gaze, almost...longing.

Once I turned the corner, I shuddered.  I wasn't sure exactly what I was seeing, but it made me feel even more uncomfortable than this entire situation already had.

 

 

Finally--on my second attempt to deal the death blow, Palladius lay lifeless on the floor of his inner sanctum.  And for this...as with few of the deaths I had been required to cause since entering the Sith Academy...I had no serious regrets.

The contempt with which the portly Sith Pureblood had spoken of the people he had commanded to worship him...the conditions in which he had left them...and his attempts to wheedle his way into my favor to continue leading the Cult of the Screaming Blade on my behalf...that had done it.  Lightning had blazed forth from my fingertips, a vicious purple.  Anger--justice--retribution...a truly Sith killing if there ever were one, except for the fact that it was _also_ because there was no way in Malachor I dared give his people anything but the _finality_ of his death.  No way I would ever leave them the fear that Palladius might rise again and resume his exploitation of them.

Even less so when I had beheld the look of terror in Rylee Dray's eyes, that I might actually _accept_ the vile being's offer.

Though his decidedly corpulent build and deep crimson skin set him apart from the trim build and human brown tones of my former master...there had been much about Lord Palladius that resembled the man who had once owned all rights to my labor and life.

I had passed the regency over the Cult, as it were, to Destris Varan, though it sat somewhat ill with me given the higher opinion I held of Rylee's compassion and insight.  I had not only told him in plainest terms that the Cult of the Screaming Blade was to turn its hearts and efforts towards the well-being of the community around it...I warned Destris in no uncertain terms that he was _not_ to run roughshod over the people, either to manipulate them, or to abusively quash dissent.

But though I said nothing of it to either, but my plan was to elevate her to his equal as soon as she was ready...and after another time, to transition the Cult into something else, run only by the faith its own people decided upon: some form of faith that reached out to support its community rather than separate from it.  But for the immediate future...it had to be Destris, for Rylee remained too fearful and distrusting of herself to assume the mantle for herself.

After a pair of Nar Shaddaa's all too numerous morgue droids had come to dispose of Palladius' body, Rylee turned to me with trepidation writ deep across her features.  "Um...Sith?  I'm grateful for all you've done," she said--and I'd had no doubt of this even without her words, "but I did wonder....you're leaving now, right?  I mean, what happens to us when you're gone?"

She slowly lifted her eyes to me, and I met them with a solemn, somber gaze of my own.  Softly I told her, "I'll have to return to Zash with the artifact soon or she'll start to wonder exactly where I've got off to.  But I'll visit you as often as I can...I promise, even if it's hard.  I'll not forget what I owe to you and your people." 

"Really?  What _you_ owe--uh...wow.  Wow, okay.  Great...that's really great," she stammered.  That wistful, longing look returned to her features and she stared deep into my eyes this time.  "Well, I look forward to it.  Good luck, and don't be too long between visits, okay?  Okay...?"

My stomach fluttered with discomfort as I forced a smile to my face.  Quite the awkward one, I suspected, but Rylee seemed not to notice.  "I am leaving soon, yes," I informed her, "but I _do_ have a few more days I can spare.  There are a few other items I have to attend to here before I can move on to my next destination."  I didn't imagine she...or many others, for that matter...would care for me to bore her with the mundane details that meant so much to a craftsman's apprentice, so I left my next tasks at that.

Rylee dipped her head in obeisance, then looked up and met my gaze again.  "Stay as long as you like, my lord," she urged.  We are always happy to have you here among us."

"For the moment," I said, "I should like to retire to the compound.  There are certain reports I must compose, and I'd best handle them before too much more time passes, as Zash will expect them as soon as I contact her."

I would have to account for what I had done to Lord Palladius, of course...he did, however loosely, belong with the same Sphere of Ancient Knowledge to which Zash and I reported, and the Order had to be notified of his death so they would cease any attempts to contact him.  The purpose of the report was not to _justify_ the slaying of a fellow Sith--rather to document the matter for posterity and provide an update as to how any properties or power structures had been dispositioned after the fact.  I _loathed_ it.

No...scratch that.  I loathed even _more_ the fact that those were the only deaths that even counted, in some fashion, to the Order.

But again I had no wish to unload on Rylee or Destris.  Even this death most justified was enough to bring to mind the others I had seen and caused since the Sith took me.  For this, I simply wished to be alone.  In silence I turned to exit Lord Palladius' sanctum, the two cultists following immediately behind.

 

 

Upon my return to the compound, I was pressed into service almost immediately to deliver an announcement of Lord Palladius' death and the accession of myself and Destris Varan to the leadership of the Cult of the Screaming Blade, and to begin outlining the changes--and the new freedoms--this would entail.  Rylee had produced recording equipment seemingly out of nowhere, to broadcast the moment for those who had not had the opportunity to be present.

"To truly be of the Sith," I had said to those gathered in the main lobby, "is to be freed of one's chains.  Lord Palladius promised you this in the distant future, or after death, but he fit you with chains of his own.  If it is the reverence of the Sith you truly seek...then the time for you to know what freedom means is not some undefined 'later.'  It is _now_.  There are those of the Sith who have disowned their families and former friends.  But our Order, unlike that of the Jedi, has _never_ demanded this.  It has always offered its those of its people who choose to take it, the opportunity to know the passions that come from being with friends, with lovers, and with family.  The withdrawal from those outside of the Cult--your families, from your friends, from your world--it ends immediately.  And much more lies ahead. 

"But for now...it is time to restore the relationships that have been broken, where this is still possible.  Some of you may find as part of this, that it is time for you to go.  There will no longer be _any_ retribution for a choice to leave us.  Others of you may find your life within this commune the richer for reconnecting with those who have been lost to you for so long.  For you, and the new ones who will surely join once the word is out about the changes here, there will be opportunities to serve within the compound, and to serve the people of your community alongside the likeminded--not by compulsion, but by _choice_.  _Always_ by choice.  These will be announced at a later time.

"For right now," I had concluded, "it is time for your lives, and those of the ones who care about you outside of the compound, to be made whole again."

There were certain ones--including Rylee and Destris--who burst into immediate, exuberant applause.  Not the applause of blind adoration, thank all that was precious, but of genuine joy.  But there were others whose faces betrayed their trepidation.  That I understood--for there was no telling just how devastating the initial severing of their relationships had been.  Just how much damage had been left in their wake.

Rather it was those whose expressions were so _empty_ , so _lost_ , that haunted me the most.  The ones who, perhaps, had grown up within the cult of Lord Palladius and like the Jedi within their temple on Coruscant, had known nothing of relations with others not a part of their regimented lives.  True, Palladius had at least allowed families, friendships, and marriages _within_ the Cult--that much, at least, he had given them more than the Jedi.  But that, I knew, was still not enough.  Not even close.

There would be much-- _so_ much to mend.  Part of me ached to simply remain here throughout the entire process...to abandon Darth Zash and her missions altogether, to be here in person as I transitioned this group away from being a Cult and into something far, far more genuine and meaningful.

But that could not be, for I knew by Lord Aloysius' warnings to me that there was much more to whatever mission it was Zash had brought me in to fulfill.  What, I knew not...only that she was not to be trusted.  And were I to absent myself in such a drastic manner, I had no doubt she would hunt me down and drag me back.  Stars only knew who else might be hurt or killed in the process.  Thus I had to hope that I might be able to help them remotely, through Destris and Rylee, and visiting whenever I could.

Destris, for his part, remained with the people gathered in the lobby as I slipped off towards my temporary quarters.

After a minute or so, once the indiscriminate buzz of the crowd in my ears and in the Force had died down, I became aware that I was still not alone.  Nerves on edge from the ordeal with Lord Palladius, and even _more_ the ordeal of sorting out the future, I flinched, then spun around to face the one who was tailing me.

"Rylee?"  I kept my voice down, not wanting to draw any of the Cult's other devotees after me.

"I...I'm sorry, my lord.  I didn't mean to startle you.  Ugh, what a way to start off."  Rylee half-whispered that last to herself.

I offered her a small, tired smile.  "It's no problem, I assure you.  Is there something else I can do for you?"

Rylee glanced down at her feet, knotting her fingers together behind her back.  "Look...um...I just want to thank you, again, for all you've done.  There's just one thing I'm kind of...curious about, I guess."  I kept my features as neutral as I could, letting her find her way to whatever subject it was she really wanted to broach.  And then she dropped the bomb.   "I just wonder, what was between us..."

"Oh..."  I couldn't help a sharp, inward breath.  My ears burned.  I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach.  Was this...oh, bloody hell, was this what it _sounded_ like?  Had her devotion turned into...I didn't even want to say it, let alone _think_ it.

"Oh, my...Rylee..."  My words fell apart just as much as hers--even _more_ , or so it felt.  What to say, what to _do_...!  "I don't--I mean...I never meant...I am _so dreadfully_ sorry--I--I never meant to give you the impression that I...wanted something like _that_ from you.  If I've hurt you, I--oh, no..."

The piteous eyes that stared up at me...oh, damn--it was as if I'd killed her beloved pet before her, or a _child_.  She seemed to utterly crumple before me even though she still stood...barely.  "M--my lord...I thought...I'd hoped that I pleased you enough...that you...I've been so _stupid_..." 

Tears started to flow down her face and I felt so utterly helpless in that moment.  There was no ability, no power that could ever prepare one for a thing like _this_.  I felt as though I were fumbling for words in the dark as I struggled to find something to say that might begin to mend... _whatever_ it was I had done to evoke such desire and such _pain_ within her.  "I have never thought you stupid, Rylee," I said.  "Never.  Anything but."

"Palladius always said...someday he might find one of us worthy to bear his child...but he never did.  He never looked at us as anything more than nerfs following him around--barely even _people_ \--nothing like _him_.  But you...you actually _listened_ and _cared_...you actually looked at me like I actually counted for something, and I just...I just...I thought it meant you were different.  _Interested_.  Now...I can see I have so, so far to go before I ever earn it--"

I felt ill.  I felt _ashamed_ , for what Palladius had done.  Rylee Dray had been one of the strong ones amongst the cultists, but to see that even _she_ had suffered thus from Palladius' machinations...it offended every part of my spirit to see her thus.  "By all the stars...!  It's not that, Rylee...it's not that I think ill of you at all--I swear it!  I think quite the opposite.  But is _that_ what Palladius told you that you were worth, nothing more than a...than some sort of consort?"

Rylee sniffed back tears--though in vain, for they still trailed down her face.  "I don't know _what_ to think sometimes, Sith," she admitted, as much to herself, it seemed, as to me.  "I mean...I figured out Palladius was making promises he was never going to keep, and I left to get away from him.  But...I've been at such loose ends ever since...and you're so unlike him.  The thought of a _truly_ great Sith seeing me as worthy of him--it would have made me feel _whole_ again."

"Oh, my...I...I hardly know what to say to that," I stuttered.  "I _can't_ , Rylee--I simply _can't_.  I can't put you in that sort of position--I can't _do_ that to you.  What you said--about being worthy, about feeling _whole_..."  I paused once more, struggling to gather my thoughts.  "I hope someday that it will make sense to you when I say that the reason I _must not_ be with you in that way is exactly _because_ I see and I value just how much you are worth.  You are _more_ than a consort.  More than an ornament, or a vessel for a Sith Lord's children.  For me to understand that means allowing you the luxury of rebuilding yourself without being the shadow of someone you might believe I want you to be." 

Rylee chanced a look into my eyes, the tears seeming to slow for a moment.  "You're not mad at me?" she whispered.  "You don't think I'm just some _pathetic girl_?"

Oh, that tone...she had heard those words before, thrown straight at her no doubt, by none other than Lord Palladius himself.  "No, Rylee," I replied.  "Of course I'm not angry.  And I _hardly_ find you pathetic, either.  You have been very poorly done by for a very long time, that much is true.  But you showed the ability to think independently of Palladius, to realize that he wasn't being honest with you or your people.  And you actually _took_ that step and left.  Those are very brave things, Rylee, especially after having spent such a long time being told _not_ to think and _not_ to act for yourself, and being kept isolated from the rest of Nar Shaddaa in this compound with nothing else to steer yourself by.  I think you have a path to recovery ahead of you, that will take some time.  But that does not make you pathetic.  Not in the least."

Rylee flushed a bright red.  "I don't _feel_ very brave," she confessed.  "That I fell for Palladius at all...what that says about me..."

"Maybe," I suggested, "it's worth considering whether it was truly Lord Palladius you fell for, or the _idea_ of something more than the life the Hutts offer here on Nar Shaddaa."

"All the backbreaking work for the Hutts or their disgusting underlings, in return for barely enough food on the table, dirty water, and disease, and no way off this planet or even up to a higher level, where I might actually get to see the sun and the stars sometime?  Stuck in this forever because I happened to be born in the wrong place at the wrong time?"  A flash of the more confident Rylee emerged with a smirk, then receded again.  "Yeah, I _definitely_ wanted something more than that."

"And _you_ had that vision, and an idea on how to start bringing that about," I reminded Rylee, reaching a hand forward but taking the utmost care not to approach too close and give any sort of impression I had lied about my true intentions towards her.  "It may be me they're calling the 'Great Healer,' but _you_ were the one who knew this world, and understood that the first step was breaking the hold that disease had on your people.  Don't think I've forgotten that, Rylee.  I never will.  Palladius may have talked, but _you_ showed _me_ how to do something."

"I...um...thanks, my lord.  That's very generous of you."  Rylee smiled, gazing off into the distance.  Though I could still see the trails the tears had formed down her face, they had come to a stop by now.

"I am not being generous," I replied.  "I'm being truthful.  And if, after all of this, you still see something to be admired in the Sith, then please...try to put that voice out of your mind that tells you these demeaning things about yourself.  I know that won't come easily, but keep trying, every day.

"And once you have come through your journey, Rylee, that's when you'll find _your_ way...not just your vision, but the person it will be right for you to be with.  If there's someone deserving of you out there, he will see _your_ greatness.  Or you will see a path that's meant specially for you to travel without a lover.  As to which one it is, that won't be mine to tell you.  That's yours to find out, and yours alone."

"Thanks, my lord," Rylee managed, and just barely at that.

I smiled.  "You are most welcome.  And...unfortunately I did mean it as well when I said I had reports I must fill out.  But tomorrow, Rylee...there is something I would like you and Destris to have the opportunity to see."

"Really?"  Rylee returned the smile with one of her own.  A true one.  "I'll be there...promise."

With that, I at last bade her a good night and retreated into solitude and silence.

 

 

The request had surprised Rylee and Destris both, to say the least.  But thankfully on these levels of the Nar Shaddaa world-city, full of laborers, it had not been a hard one to fulfill.

Thus it was we now stood before Shikkai's Smithy, in the next sector over from the Cult of the Screaming Blade's compound.  _She's a little...uh...coarse_ , Rylee had warned me.  _But she more than gets the job done._ I certainly hoped so, considering I was holding the mask of my ancestor, Lord Aloysius, tucked in my arm, and what I planned to do could never be undone.  I had already sought and won Lord Aloysius' permission, but still, I felt rather on pins and needles about what I intended to do.

I stepped over the threshold and took in all the sights before me.  Like everything on this level of Nar Shaddaa, the smithy was a rather ramshackle affair, but the sheer amount and variety of equipment the master smith had managed to cram into this  place was truly astounding to say the least.  I hardly even knew where to begin, as I glanced over the forges themselves, a variety of quench tanks nearby, power hammers and grinders, and of course the hammers and anvils not even the most primitive smith could do without.

That's when the master smith herself chose to show up: a huge, hulking Gamorrean with yellow-green skin, wearing a heavy hide apron and matching gloves, with a rather nondescript shirt and skirt beneath, both covered in all sorts of soot, sweat, and burn marks.  Even with the girth ordinary for the Gamorrean species, the smith was quite unmistakably female.  And she--Shikkai, I presumed--did not hesitate to let me know.

" _What, ya ain't never seen a Gamorrean with boobs before?_ " I gave a brief moment of thanks that the art of hearing other languages through the Force was somehow separate from that required to access living minds: I had no trouble understanding the master smith's speech, though a part of me somewhat regretted exactly _what_ I'd heard.  She _was_ coarse, all right.  " _Heh...ya thinhides..._ " Shikkai grunted in her native language; her physiology did not allow for the phonemes of Basic.  " _Here I was thinkin' ya ain't got no Gamorrese like half o' these poor things that wander their way in here, but I can see straight through that flimsy little sheet o' skin ya got there.  Yeah, ya heard me all right--ya look like I grabbed ya right by the throat there!  Or maybe by somethin' else!  Hah!  Ya ain't never heard the word 'boobs' before, either, human?_ "

"Actually," I replied, trying to keep myself as businesslike as possible, "I've never seen the inside of another forge besides my old one, except on holovids."

" _Hah...really?  Well, now THAT'S different!  Here I was thinkin' ya was some kinda Sith Lord or something!_ "  And with that, Shikkai walked right up and clapped me on the back--hard--with one enormous hand, almost enough to knock the air right out of my lungs.  " _Hard to picture a li'l squirt like you movin' any metal with a real hammer, but if ya say so, mister!_ "

I cleared my throat, as soon as I managed to catch my breath again.  "Well...actually, I _am_ a Sith apprentice," I clarified.  Shikkai's nostrils flared wide, and I caught some sort of curse from the Force that didn't quite translate into human sensibilities and based on what I _had_ been able to understand so far, I was rather grateful it didn't.  "But before that I was an apprentice bladesmith.  That's as far as I got--the Sith Academy found me first, and you know the law.  Those with the Force must become Sith, if we survive."

" _Don't hear_ that _one every day_ ," Shikkai muttered to herself with a snort.  " _Never thought I'd hear a Sith admit to workin' with his hands!  Ooooh, so scandalicious!_ "Then she pointed at the helmet I carried in my arm.  " _So--whatcha got for me there, Mr. Sith?_ "

I smiled, beginning to find her absolute irreverence something of a relief.  "This battle mask belonged to an ancestor of mine...a Warrior.  Myself--I'm not much for masks or armor, but I still wish to honor him by making something from the mask's material...a diadem, I think.  That will be quite a bit more practical to wear than a mask."  No one, not Shikkai, not Rylee, not Destris, needed to know about the protective spells imbued in the helm that might help me to withstand Darth Zash and my other enemies.  But the part about honoring Lord Aloysius...that much was the truth too, very much so.

" _Ooooweee, well, there's a new one for me to make, and outta_ that _!_ "The Gamorrean smith clapped her huge hands together.  " _Well, how much ya got on ya, Mr. Sith?  And here's a hint--top credit gets ya to the toppa the pile!_ "

"Actually," I said, "I was hoping to borrow some space in your shop to forge it myself.  And buy some engraving tools from you to finish the work back on my ship.  I had to leave mine behind when I went to the Academy."

Shikkai snuffled.  " _Well, yer still gonna hafta pay_ some _for takin' up space and time in here, 'cause I'm sure you're gonna bug me with questions about my stuff...but I'm thinkin' we can work somethin' out.  And the tools...well, I ain't sure I got anything for_ them _dainty li'l hands there, but I'll see what I can't scare up._ "

I nodded.  "Very well, then."  I pulled out my datapad and tapped out a figure.  "Will this do?"

" _Oh, yeah, you bet it'll do!_ " Shikkai squealed.  " _Now what about them two?_ " she asked, gesturing towards Rylee and Destris, who had been watching the exchange without a word.  " _They plannin' on workin', or just gawkin'?_ "

"I brought them along to observe," I said.

" _I'll let 'em off without chargin' 'em separate fees for now_ ," Shikkai decided, " _so long as they ain't gettin' too bad underfoot_."

"That's very gracious of you," I said.  "Now if you could point me towards your belt grinders, I need to pry a bit of this material up and see exactly what kind of metal I'm dealing with here."  Once I had a section off, I'd be able to perform a spark test: by watching the quality and brightness of the sparks that flew off the metal when I put it up to the grinder, I would be able to tell in general terms what it would take to reforge it into my desired shape.

" _Thataway_ ," Shikkai indicated, jutting a huge, clawed thumb in the proper direction.  I headed over, Rylee and Destris in tow.

First I picked up a small cutting torch and sliced my way through the material forming the tough jawline of the mask.  This, I figured, would be sufficient, for once I'd drawn the thick piece out to a more proper length, it seemed there ought to be more than enough to encircle my head.  Then, as I explained to Rylee and Destris what I had in mind, I cut off another small section from around the eye sockets--this a scrap I would sacrifice to the grinder to determine just what this metal was.

" _Better not be durasteel, 'cause that stuff's a royal freakin' BITCH to work with, and I'm_ definitely _gonna hafta charge ya extra for grindin' through my tools, Sith or no Sith!_ " Shikkai called across the forge as soon as she heard the metal touch the grinder.

I scrutinized the sparks--bright, bright yellow, plentiful in number, branching off at the end like celebratory sparklers...I had my answer.  "It's traditional high-carbon steel," I shouted back.  "Should work with your tools quite well enough!"  I turned to Rylee and Destris.  "Well, then...it's time for me to start heating this up so I can draw it out into the proper shape.  I'm thankful I was able to get what I needed from this part of the mask, because if I'd had to harvest smaller pieces from many different areas, I most likely would have had to resort to forge welding, and with such a limited supply of material I could ill afford to experiment and risk cold shuts or inclusions."

The two cultists looked blankly at me, as I realized I'd delved deep into jargon that, if they had never worked the forge, likely meant little to them.  But that wasn't a bad thing.  In fact, it rather suited the point I was trying to illustrate.  "My apologies," I said.  "Suffice it to say a single large piece like this will be far easier to work with, since I should only need to weld it once, in the back.  And I can hide that with my hair."

Finally, Rylee chanced to speak up.  "Wouldn't you be able to use the Force to make it do whatever you want?"

At that, I smiled.  Perfect.  "I admit, I _do_ have a sense for the metal; I always did.  Only when the Sith came for me did I realize it was the Force.  But the techniques I learned since I was a boy don't require it.  It's true my awareness of the Force isn't something I can simply switch off or deactivate.  So yes, it's there with me in this.  But not all that I do is of the Force.  It never was, and never will be.

"I also wanted you to see that I am not somehow _better_ than anyone because I have the Force," I continued.  "Stronger in certain ways--yes.  _Better_...no.  Can you imagine Palladius doing a blacksmith's work?  Let alone admitting that he required the teaching of a master smith for anything?  I did not come here to take on some sort of godhead, you see."  My voice shook with passion.  "I came here to work at your side.  If I may be an _example_ in that, then that is more than sufficient for me.  You are all capable of so much more than Palladius ever gave you credit for.  You can be great healers, builders, bringers of hope-- _all_ of it.  That is the message I want you to take back to the compound, to remember when I am not present.  Can you do that?"

Rylee nodded, eyes seeming to glisten once more though in the low light of the Gamorrean forge, it was hard to tell for certain.

"Yeah," she answered.  "I think I can."

And _that_ , I hoped, would become another _true_ blessing for these people, who had suffered so much.

**Author's Note:**

> this is easily one of the nastiest sets of orders that you have to deal with in Star Wars: The Old Republic, if you choose to play a Light Sith Inquisitor. Imagining how Tarssus would have handled this situation was a heck of a thought exercise indeed. So I decided to take this interaction, which if you follow it earns you some serious (and deserved) Dark Side points, and alter it heavily, completely turning it on its head: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=47zriMdkdgk
> 
> And yes, I know this means this won't be the only time Tarssus is interpreted by someone as having romantic designs when he really doesn't. But at this point, before "A Brother's Tale," Tarssus doesn't realize that his great curiosity and interest in what others have to say and teach him, means he comes on quite strong at times.


End file.
